Broken wings and ****** feathers the grey dove tries to fly once more It feels as if it's being pulled in one direction And being unable to follow the leash It watches forlornly as the others around it the ones who had been broken by the same thing take flight renewed refreshed ready but the little grey dove isn't so sure if she's ready to take flight anymore She's not sure who's fault it was. The cat who broke her wings and threw her? Or was it herself, for letting him do it? The little grey dove is waiting instead of doing She knows that time can heal her wounds. But perhaps the bone is broken too far up. Perhaps she'll never fly again. No one comes to keep her company through out the months she's made a small refuge, a place to sleep a place to heal But every once in a while A newly white dove comes by with a bent feather of her friends evidence that the cat is still out there While she sits and heals and does nothing.
the doves came swiftly into the patch of sky above me
the first three had not a single wreath or branch at the tip of any of their beaks they simply flew into the openness above me
to thine eyes they neared the celestial sphere ... Could he be as swift as the doves while jotting down equations over the gridded paper was he too, thinking of the heavens or just of the gravitational modeling over time and space Could the young man with the TI calculator see, too the same patch of sky with the same doves as he engineered our course through space running multiple scenarios through his mind ... they gave us wings, and now we can all fly on commercial flights take day-long trips to destinations to that used to be called "far off" ... After being picked up from the airport I asked my dad "Do you still think the sky divine?" ... It had been raining for a week and the Santa Ana winds had turned the mild L.A evenings into chilly and sweater worthy nights. As we sat on the porch I leaned over and asked him about god; he pointed at the sky, but not at himself –and I wondered how much of heaven could be there for us within that sky and beyond it
There are dreams of leaving earth and of making humans interplanetary. My question is: Would it be "heaven on earth" minus the earth part or would we reproduce the same mental formations and create a world that suffers from the same ailment of our current. How much of "heaven" of this idea of space that we've placed part of our collective hope will we really find?
If I store my feelings on the clouds and make it rain on you, will it make you feel how it feels to be in love? Will you finally smile with your soul and feel free like a dove? I hope this rain washes away the sorrows and restores the love you've lost I hope it makes you love yourself enough to put no one above.
Rose tears are my lips and these lips are anointed in the nectar balm where angels sip and roar. This garden of my soul is but a flying dove, going from pond to pond and hiding in its treasures. No human can catch me, no perception, no feeling, for I am the everlasting substance of Heaven.